


Red of Night

by Night_Panther_13



Category: Anastasia - Flaherty/Ahrens/McNally
Genre: <- got possessed by victor hugo, <-sike, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Eventual Smut, I'm Bad At Tagging, Love, Pining, Retelling, Sexual Assault, Slow Build, Slow Burn, but there is a lot of kissing, this is a long fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-25
Updated: 2019-03-27
Packaged: 2019-12-07 19:50:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18239447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Night_Panther_13/pseuds/Night_Panther_13
Summary: A retelling of Anastasia with a whole lot of my own stuff. Will probably be a three part series.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own these characters sadly.
> 
> I also can't write for shit.
> 
> Honestly have no idea how this happened.
> 
> It all started once upon a sleep deprived night.

The Neva’s pristine surface glowed with the soft gold and lilac hues of the early sunrise. The warm spring air blew gently in stark contrast to the previous winter. I padded softly down the riverside street enjoying the silence of the city. Not many souls would wake up this early in the morning, but punctuality was hammered into my spine for as long as I could remember. I made my way to the Bolshevik offices to clock in for the day. The familiar click of typewriters and the shuffling of papers was heard as I pulled the heavy oak door open. Many of the secretaries and lower rankings officers lived in rooms within the complex and were constantly at work. I nodded my head in their direction before turned down the hall. It was empty and dark. The heels of my boots clicked on the wood floor as\ my office drew ever nearer. It had a pretty view stretching all the way to the Yusupov Palace. Pressing my fingers to the glass I gazed at the awakening city. Russia was truly beautiful. Heart filled with pride I turned to my work. I despised the stacks of paper that covered the desk. Rumors. Lies. Threats. Most were insignificant. I hated spending hours locked away in the small room staring blankly at the sheets. How could Russia prosper if these foolish lies surface again and again? How many traitors are out there spreading their poison? A sharp knock on the door startled me.  
“Deputy Commissioner?” a scratchy female voice called. It was the new typist, Sonya.  
“Yes comrade?” I coldly responded. Interruptions annoyed me greatly. The door creaked open showing the frightened face of the young girl. She was stout with a dark complexion. Her heavy lidded eyes staring at her shoes. She held a new folder in her arms. I stood from my chair towering over the girl.  
“Another case comrade,” She coughed in her gruff voice. I took the folder from her and skimmed over it’s contents. A count who would have to be made an example of. Protesting in the square calling for the death of the Bolsheviks. Nothing special. He was already rotting in a cell somewhere in St. Peter-Leningrad. I would need to send an officer to assure his trial and punishment. More work for another person. The click of a tongue brought my attention back to the girl looking at me expectantly. She rocked on her heels with a half-smug face. “Ahem.”  
“Comrade,” I said with hostility. The girl should show some respect for the russian uniform I proudly wore. “Do not forget with whom you are speaking with. Be careful.”  
“I’m sorry comrade” She squeaked with terror. “I didn’t mean to-”  
“Dismissed,” I curtly stated. She turned and quickly her heels clicked down the hall. I chuckled darkly to myself. I set the papers down and looked once more out the window. It would be lovely to put off the paperwork and do patrols today. With a sky so blue I could practically feel the sunshine already. Fresh air could do me good and perhaps when I get back the work might not seem so bad.  
Strolling down the Nevsky Prospekt with sun shining on my face was one of the better things my job called for. I breathed in deeply. Looking about I noticed the regular slew of people shrinking back from me in fear politely praising Russia. Some days I pretended it was with respect, but I was not naive and I knew very well what my duties can entail. It was a grim business. Necessary business. I kept my head high and my shoulders back. Walking with authority was a talent I perfected. Making my way into the square I noticed a few young ladies looking at me and more importantly at my medals. My position.  
“Dobroye utro,” I tightly grinned. “Have a good day comrades.” The girls giggled as I made my way past them. I shook my head slightly and closed my eyes. I felt my muscles relax. Some days are tough, today was simply tiring. I snapped my eyes open and moved along my way. 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Move girl,” An angry gentleman scoffed as he pushed me aside. “An officer is coming through. Don’t want to tip the cart.” I picked up my broom and watched the man drag his cart of flowers across the street. Indignantly I shook my fist after him. I bent back to the ground as the broomstick methodically brushed the pavement. Moments later the soft tapping of an officer’s shoes moved past. The vendor had been right as the sea of people tripped over each other to part for the officer. Not quite the red sea, but enough to not brush shoulders with him. I tipped my head up enough to see him pass. He must have been high ranking. He held himself with such poise. His head on a swivel, his ears straining for gossip, and hands clasped firmly behind his back. I didn’t take note of his appearance other than the fact that he was tall. I didn't need to know much. He was a Bolshevik officer. Another dangerous man to be wary of, just another skirt chasing son of a-.  
“It’s a real shame he’s one of them,” a lady whispered to me. Her head was bowed and her hands quickly laced her boots. I blinked hoping I hadn’t imagined her speaking.  
“Excuse me comrade?” I asked.  
“He’s a real Russian,” She said lowly not taking her eyes off of the propped up boot. After a moment of stiff silence she looked at me. “Handsome.”  
“I never notice,” I replied. I began to move my broom again. The woman was a regular on the street. She worked in a little shop. “There are too many of them. I can’t waste my time watching every man. I have work to do.”  
“Not every man looks like him,” another woman chipped in. “Now I’d be careful of him though. God gives a man like him beauty as a trap. He is a Russian as red as blood.”  
“You can hush up,” A third woman joined in. “He doesn’t seem very affectionate, but men of his rank can pay well for...services.” We stood quietly in understanding. I pitied the woman knowing how hard money is to come by. We all make a choice and ours paths are different. “Can we not appreciate that he is at least handsome? It’s better than those aged officers.”  
“Olga get back to work,” The first woman scolded. The ladies began to disperse but I overheard the rest of the conversation. “That man was never your client. You’d be telling every detail if he was.” I laughed quietly and a red blush crept on my cheeks. The weather was pleasant and entertainment had clearly ensued. Moving my broom in a simple rhythm I looked down the Nevsky Prospekt to see the faint outline of the proud officer and the parting crowd around him.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I carefully observed the people of Russia as I moved through the square. My ears were as keen as ever to listen for the newest gossip, rumors, and defiances to the state. I would be lying to myself if I didn’t think I was searching for the pretty little street sweeper. I never thought much about her until one boring day in the winter my mind wandered. By the end of the day my anxious thoughts were convinced that she had frozen to death and I would never see her again. The next day I insisted I go on patrols in the freezing cold. Usually on those days lower ranking officers were sent to patrol. I knew I had acted odd. I had carefully walked through the streets until I had seen her sweeping the powdery snow from the street. Now here I was once again letting my eyes wander over to her. She was pretty, gorgeous. She has long golden hair with streaks of copper. As she worked her mouth would turn into a soft smile as if she were laughing. Her distinct blue eyes glowed with youth and health. They were the color of sapphires, the Neva, the summer sky, and moonlight all in one. He could spend forever gazing at her beautiful round eyes. Her thin frame moving gracefully through her work. She was a good Russian woman. Hardworking. Never straying a moment to gossip or listen to these rumors that prevail. He on the other hand was unfocused as he looked for her. Seeing the top of her golden hair in the crowd a blush crept up his face. Get yourself together man. Her eyes were downcast as I moved towards her. I frowned slightly. But as I got closer she didn’t move away, she just kept sweeping. A real Russian beauty. What a cruel trick of nature that I could speak with anyone in St. Pet-Leningrad but her. I got butterflies in my stomach just thinking about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is more like an epilogue, so excuse all the jumps between Anya and Gleb's point of view. We are just getting started here kiddos.


	2. ballet and empty glasses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When I wrote this chapter I based the whole interactions off a song but now that I'm posting it I forgot what it was. Oops. Lots of fluff in this chapter and I wanted a full view of the characters contrasting approach to this. POV switches are sudden here and I understand y'all don't like that, but I did that on purpose to keep you on your toes. The later chapters don't have the POV switches so much. 
> 
> I kinda suck at writing.  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> Whatever.

The warm summer air blew under the bridge as I stared at the dark starry sky. I was shaking head to toe. Another night, another nightmare. Blood, screams, bullets, quiet. Tears threatened to choke me. I contained my sobs and focused on the small twinkling stars sewn into the black velvet night. I held my knees close to my chest and turned to watch the other huddled form underneath the bridge I called home. A rough looking woman in her mid thirties shared this space with me and another young woman with a bright shock of orange hair. I could see her hunched shoulders move in peaceful slumber. I sat up and looked past the older lady, Veronika to see if Masha had returned. Not an orange hair in sight. Masha must be with a man. In wintertime I envied her. Masha would say, “Anya, darling, you’re no grander than the rest of us. Why starve and freeze yourself for the sake of dignity. It’s not so bad, it gets a roof over your head.” I then remember how Masha turns up some nights: bruised, tear stained, with a coin held tightly in her fist.  
I turned on my back and stared. I did not want to fall asleep again. The nightmares were awful. On nights when I could no longer bear it I would dig my nails into my arms and scream. Veronika would wake up disgruntled and shake me awake to stop the sound. If the cheka cared enough to investigate I might be disposed of; to keep the peace. My arms and legs felt so heavy. Like sandbags. My blinking slowed down. I tried my best to pry them open but my arms lay still and my head sank. The heavy eyelids sank slowly damming me to the terrors of my own mind.  
I awoke with silent tears falling fast down my cheeks. I couldn’t even recall what had frightened me so badly. I felt alone and the warming breeze could not console me. I wiped my cheeks and strained my ears. Us “bridge trolls” as Masha affectionately nicknamed had a system in the morning; an alarm clock per say. Ten to four every morning the soft padding of uniform boots was heard on the otherwise silent street. During one of my first summers in Leningrad I had found an old watch and timed this mystery walker. Such precision. The second sound was an old woman who would cross the bridge at around four. The jingle of keys and coins were enough to wake Veronika. The third alarm was friend of Masha’s who would hit the bridge railing thrice to ensure Masha wouldn’t be fired for her tardiness. I listened quietly as I combed my hair with a wooden brush, one of my few belongings. The nearly silent sound of perfectly measured footsteps crescendoed and faded into nothingness. I stuffed the comb into a knapsack and pushed it behind a bush for safekeeping. I stretched my weary limbs and sat on my heels looking over my shoulder at Veronika. Masha had not turned up. The distant sound of jingling was heard and Veronika groaned. I turned my eyes to the river and watched it’s shimmering waves.  
“You going to the ballet tonight Anya?” Veronika rasped. I looked back at her as she lit a cigarette. The “ballet” was held at an abandoned building at night. There were two reasons people ever went. To celebrate and enjoy themselves dancing in the first round of songs or secondly, meet up with prostitutes. Masha and Veronika would take me to relax a bit and draw in clients for them. I enjoyed dancing and would go to have fun, never staying for the second round of dancing which was risque. It was a small dance floor with a few wooden tables and boxes for chairs.  
“I don’t have anything to celebrate,” I reply smiling. “I should be getting more rest.”  
“We both know you won’t” Veronika snorted. She pinned her dark hair back and looked at me with pity. I looked away. “You also know that I need to save money for winter. Come along. Relax.” I nodded my head in affirmation. It could be fun.  
============================================================================================================= “Comrade you look stressed,” Officer Petrov jokes. A glare of sharp ice met his gaze. He didn’t flinch but his cheerfulness faltered. The smile wavering. “It’s a joke. Now, laugh my friend.”  
“There is work to be done comrade,” I lowly said. “Unless you are going to file this I don’t have time to laugh.” He took the stack of papers and moved to the cabinet earning him one flat chuckle.  
“Gleb, come with us tonight,” Officer Mikhailov politely offered. “Petrov and I are going to the “ballet” and you, Vaganov, would make three. A jolly group wouldn’t you say now?”  
“I’m not one for that,” I said looking up at the two officers standing by my desk earnestly. Under their gaze I straightened my collar. “Drinking, dancing, ladies of the night. It’s foolish.”  
“Come be foolish,” Petrov said with renewed courage. His lopsided grin sparkled in the dim lighting. “Just tonight. One drink and a dance. You may leave after that. Let’s see the man behind the uniform for once.”  
“I’ll agree and you two will disappear from my office and let me work for the rest of the day,” I commanded. I raised an eyebrow questioningly. The steely expression never leaving my face. “Understood comrades?”  
“We’ll see you then Deputy Commissioner,” Mikhailov replied. He replaced his hat to his head and turning on his heel took Petrov with him out the door. The door closed with a quiet click. I stood and looked out the window running a hand through my hair. I sighed; tonight would be very trying on my nerves.  
============================================================================================================= “OW. ow ow ow.” I whimpered. Veronika relentlessly pulled my hair taut and pinned it upwards. The pins poked my scalp and the comb tore at my windswept hair.  
“Anya stop it,” Masha croned in annoyance. Her dark eyes gazed at herself in the mirror. Her fiery locks were braided in a crown. A scandalous black dress clung to her curves. Rouge set on her cheeks and a deep red painted her lips. She pouted and sent a warning look in my direction. “You wanted to come. Stop complaining. The owner wants all the ladies to be presentable.”  
“Mmmhmmm,” Veronika snorted. Her eyes scanned over Masha’s dress again. A sarcastic smile formed on her lips. “Presentable.” Her stout form wore a emerald green gown. Fake cheap pearls adorned her neck and wrist. Her raven hair curled and short. A short glass of clear vodka rested on her folded clothes. She alternated between drinking and working on my hair.  
I wore a cheap blue dress which would be returned to the costume closet after the dance. The owner would hand out the clothes and fake jewelry to his call-girls, I was given such because he felt bad for me. Pity. I was disgusted by it. The greasy haired man would stroke his greying beard and look the ladies up and down handing out things as they passed by.  
“Malyshka,” He would gruffly call to me. “Pick a dress.” I don’t think he even knew my name or face. I was only ever the little girl who hung about Veronika’s skirt. The few other ladies tightened corsets and painted their faces quietly around us. Hushed whispers spreading news and gossip.  
“Done,” Veronika said clapping my back gently. “Run along out there if you want.”  
“Thank you,” I responded. My hair was fashionable, perhaps pretty. Looking in the lighted mirror all I could see were tired eyes and scared child. Not a pretty young woman like I had been assured of. Masha shooed me away from the mirror. Quietly I stood and opened the dressing room door. A few people mulled around the room buying drinks and talking. I forced a smile and faded into the shadows in search of a chair.  
\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ “Comrades there are too many reports I need to finish,” I said without looking up from the desk. My eyes unable to focus and read the writing. Their presence disturbed my concentration. Officer Petrov drummed his fingers on the edge of the wood. He uncharacteristically remained quiet.“I can’t go. Go enjoy yourselves without me.”  
“Gleb,” Mikhailov smiled gently. “I made sure Comrade Petrov did not disturb you all day. You have to fulfill your part of the bargain now friend.” His even tone tested the waters, seeing if I would snap back at him. My eyes rose carefully to watch his expression. A warm gaze looked back at me. I kept my guard up.  
“Vaganov,” Petrov groaned. Childish as ever. “You are not the only one here. The work can wait. You have put in plenty of hours to service of good of Russia. Now reap some of the reward. Let us go comrades.” His blond head bobbed as he spoke, pleased with himself. Mikhailov nodded in approval. I rose from my chair and sighed deeply. I had no say in the matter. Petrov grinned boyishly. Clasping hands behind my back I gesture to the door. They glady lead the way. I looked over my shoulder to the stack of papers before closing the door and locking my fate for the night.  
\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ I was practically invisible sitting on top a wooden crate. I liked gazing at the people in the hazy golden lights. Not even twenty people had gathered in the hall. The cheap liquor continuously cascaded into dark glass cups. Wonderful and diverse character flitted about the room. Hunched shoulders and worn hands collided in casual greeting. Joyous shouts filled the room. A summer breeze blew through the broken window frame. A low hollow whistle vibrated through the pane.  
“Dobryy vecher comrades!” A man cried entering the building. “Dva vodki. Put it under the name Mikhailov now won’t you my dear fellow. Vaganov what do you want?” I watched this strange group walk to the bar. The loud gentleman was short, springy, and energetic. A blond moustache lined his lip and a fierce attitude gave him an edge. He wore a lopsided smile yet his posture was straight and his footfalls measured. The man who the blond called Mikhailov followed closely behind. The same trained stance made his thin physique appear more intimidating. His thin brown hair was cut short and his grey eyes gave him a weary appearance. Crows’ feet framed his almond shaped eyes. His thin lips spread across a bashful smile. Their companion was less joyful but had the most handsome appearance. His hands were firmly clasped behind him and his expression was professional. I had to admit to myself that everything about his body was sculpted perfectly. Strong muscles, sharp cut jaw, tall, powerful shoulders, long thin fingers of a musician, and shaped lips. Very well built, very Russian. His face was stern and his eyes dark pools that matched his hair. I looked away. Bolsheviks.  
“Viski comrade,” The dark haired man replied. “On the rocks.” I smoothed my skirt and watched idly as the owner slid glasses to the patrons. He gestured his arm sharply and his thin apprentice sat at the dusty piano. A simple waltz played out in the air. Two young ladies sitting on men’s laps sprang alive and danced heartily. The dolled up women moved away from the dressing room door and talked among the men, enticing them to dance. I tapped my foot along to the song and strained my memory, searching to find the music of my youth. I watched a portly man approach Veronika and whisk her clumsily away to the dancefloor. Masha was speaking to the stalky officer batting her eyelids. I smiled sheepishly. Masha looked very pretty when she tried to. Her auburn curls framed her oval face in a way that brought out her eyes. I let my feet lead me around the room. The image of swirling skirts seemed so familiar to me yet I could not grasp why. The anxious feelings swelled up in my mind and I fought them back. I couldn’t let my missing memories ruin a good night. Tonight was supposed to be fun.  
“Anya!” Masha called in a sickeningly sweet voice. I made my way over to her. “Officer Mikhailov here wanted to see you. Don’t you think she looks very sweet, officer?” I looked at Masha questioningly. She must not want to speak with the officer any longer.  
“A cute thing,” The officer responded. A soft pink was on his cheeks. An empty glass in his hand. “I think you Miss Masha look very gorgeous as well.” I smiled in warning at Masha and left her with her companion, much to her dismay. I laughed under my breath and continued the stroll around the room. A small tap on the shoulder had me turn around.  
“Comrade would you like to dance?” Asked a laughing voice. It was the blond spritely man.  
“Of course comrade,” I answered automatically. His hand enveloped mine and he led me to the dancing area as a polka began. His loud voice echoed as he sang and hollered. I laughed happily as he quickly moved about. Kicking and jumping he knew the movements well. Yet there was the clumsy boyishness about him. An air of a young soldier radiated from the proud man. Many times I hopped away from him as my toes were stomped on. His hand on my waist sank a little too far. I glared at him briefly moving it back to an appropriate height.  
“Not one of those girls are you?” He said unembarrassed. “Heh funny girl.” I looked away somehow ashamed. Perhaps I had misled him? Perhaps this happiness was not meant for me? I grinned still. I wouldn’t let his poor intentions bring me down. I was just going to enjoy the feeling of dancing. He continued laughing and let me spin and dodge his stomping. His jerky movements had my head spinning and my grin widened. Stars collected inside me causing the light to chase out the dark shadows of nighttime dreams. The music halted. I caught my breath in a fit of giggles.  
“Thank you comrade,” I lightly chuckled. He nodded his head in approval and continued his prowl for another kind of woman. I sat down to collect myself again. My heart was racing and my breathing still uneven. My skirt billowed out around me. I felt as light as air and sparks flickered in my heart. I felt a warm fire within me. The summers were nice in Leningrad. A cough brought my attention away from the dancing couples.  
“Ahem,” said a rich voice. “Would you like to dance comrade?” I met the eyes of the handsome soldier with his medals glittering around his proud chest. His cheeks and neck were tinged red, liquid courage coursing through his veins. He stood as tall as ever. Not drunk. Up close his eyes were soft and smiling, but it did not quite reach his mouth.  
“Yes comrade,” I said trying my best to mimic Masha’s sweet tone. His mouth upturned in a small grin. He held out a hand invitingly.  
============================================================================================================= “She’s just a girl,” I repeated silently in my mind. Her pretty hand held mine as I spun her out on the floor. She moved gracefully like she were a swan floating on water. Soft fingertips interlaced with mine. She looked very pretty in the teal billowy dress. It wasn’t her shade, but the shape complimented her very well. She was too close. I could feel the heat rising to my cheeks. Whether it was because of her or the whiskey I could not tell. My gaze was ensnared by her pristine blue eyes. As she spun her skirt belled out and swished across her legs. As she came back towards me I could smell the sweet mix of lilac and vanilla. I offered a soft smile which she returned. Her smile was like sunshine and made my heart flutter. Her movements so delicate and natural. I could feel her breath so near to my skin. My mind was overwhelmed; I was stressed. I had never thought of her this way. She is just a girl; a pretty girl.  
“Is it your first time at the ballet?” She asked offhand.  
“Yes,” I answered simply, it could have come off coldly. I stuck out my chin hoping to hold onto some dignity. I would not lose my mind over this little waif. It brought me back to reality. I was in a dank broken building dancing to a poorly tuned piano surrounded by prostitutes and their clients. Perhaps she was one?  
“I enjoy it here,” She continued smiling. “I like to dance; the music too. I don’t stay for long though.” I released a breath I didn't know I was holding. She was a good and honest Russian. On the right path and doing well for herself. How admirable. “It’s no fault of their own of course.”  
“I pity them,” I agreed. She looked up at me. Such understanding was held in her eyes; she could read my every thought.  
“What do the medals mean?” She asked innocently. “What’s your rank comrade?”  
“Deputy commissioner,” I beamed. I held my head high showing off the fruits of my labor glittering gold in the lights.  
“Deputy commissioner,” She mumbled dreamily. A hand came up to trace the outline of one of the medals. It was hard to contain the enthusiasm I had: my love for Russia was bountiful. Her hand ever so gently moving along my chest.  
He moved with surprising agility. His movements were precise and as smooth as glass. Not trained or practiced, but as though he felt the music on a deeper level. His fingers intertwined in mine squeezing ever so reassuringly. He spun me around making my heart race and my breathing an airy laugh. The ease in which he moved was calming. He smelled clean. The blue skirt swished softly around me.  
============================================================================================================= “What do the medals mean?” I questioned. “What’s your rank comrade?” I had to be wary. The worst night of the spring was when I awoke to sobs that were not my own. Masha had returned to the bridge covered in blood and bruises. A Bolshevik had taken her to his home and returned her broken. A rough bunch they were. Evil some would say. I could never be too careful. I’ve lived a long enough life on the streets to know that. A young child in the streets learned quickly to avoid attention from the Bolsheviks. They are dangerous, any powerful person is.  
“Deputy commissioner,” He beamed with a widening grin. I pressed my fingers to the shiny badges. They must have meant a lot to him. I moved along the edge wondering how he earned them. Deputy commissioner?  
“Yes,” He softly said. “I worked all my life to make my country proud. I was recently promoted. Only a few short months back.” He stammered and was silent. He blushed slightly looking like he had rambled on and lost himself.  
“Very interesting Officer,” I responded. He looked so genuinely happy. The last notes of the piano rang. I released his hand and bowed my head in farewell. He stood silent and still. Carefully watching me for a moment. I headed to the dressing room as the bell sounded. My part in the ballet was done. Shedding the blue gown I put on my usual attire. I removed the bothersome pins from my hair and scratched my scalp slightly; relaxing my sore head. Big blue eyes looked through the glass back at me. I let a laugh escape my lips. Tomorrow I had work. I should be heading home. Walking back through the streets of Leningrad I felt the soft pull of sleep. The hazy city lights rippled in the Neva’s surface. The warm yellows of streetlamps melted into the water.


	3. Cup of Tea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anya and Gleb finally have tea together.

The warm summer melted into a crisp autumn. The trees still held their vibrant green leaves and the flowers still bloomed into splashes of color. The scrapping of brooms against the pavement continued in a bored fashion. People bustled about; whispering. Patrolling was dull today. The clicking of typewriters would be unbearable. Looking at my reflection in a shop window I adjusted my collar. Gloved hands crossed behind my back and hat placed firmly on my head. I looked away from the glass walking with purpose. My usually silent footsteps had a little click to them. I had on my newer uniform black boots.  
“Dmitry get out of here!” A hushed whisper warned. “Bolsheviks.” I turned in time to see the dark haired boy run out through an alleyway. The young man was a thief and liar. He was not a criminal worth much punishment. I followed him closely. To scare him enough to persuade better behavior. The dandy slipped past the people and blended in so well. A perfected sport. They parted around me. I could move quickly but with the crowd pressing against each other to avoid bumping me I lost his form. I stopped in defeat.  
“She could still be alive,” I heard a voice say. I turned in circles trying to located the sound. More than one person ducked their heads and hurried away. Rumors prevailed to live another day. A dark haired lady bumped my arm. Very suspicious considering the lack of people who would get close. I grabbed the young woman by the arm. She spun around to face me.  
“Comrade what is that you are hiding in your coat?” I questioned. Her look of pure fear confirmed my suspicions.  
“Food comrade,” She whimpered. “Bread?” I held out my gloved hand.  
“Robbing an officer?” I coldly stated. “A dangerous gamble comrade.” My eyes narrowed as she placed a small leather pouch full of coins in my hand. The hand still gripped on her arm tightened. She shook with dread. I replaced the money back into my coat pocket and released her.  
“You will not be so lucky next time I catch you,” I promised. I stepped back, my gaze holding her still.  
“My apologizes Deputy Commissioner,” She quivered.  
“Dismissed,” I commanded as though we were in my office. She scrambled away quickly. I stood perfectly still. She looked back at me fearing my pursuit. A loud crack sounded through the square. A automobile drove off down the street. My thoughts of gunfire went quiet upon seeing the truck. A scream followed it. Shrill and terrified. I pinpointed the sound to a huddled girl. Hands covering her ears and protecting her blonde head. She whimpered and cried. A time of revolution was not so long ago. Many people remember the fighting of their youth. The blood, the bullets, and the tsar’s Russia. In the people’s Leningrad there was none of that. I approached the shaking woman.  
“NO!” She screamed again. Pitied looks graced her back.  
“It was just a truck backfiring, comrade,” I told her calmly. "That’s all it was. Those days are over, neighbor against neighbor. There’s nothing to be afraid of anymore.” I picked up her broom. I tenderly placed a hand on her back. Like a mad dog she spun and began to struggle: kicking and punching. Her movements were slow and panicked. As I had been trained I pinned her arms to her chest, holding her still.  
“Rough man,” A passing by woman mumbled quietly. I chose to ignore the comment and looked at this woman paralyzed by fear in my hold. She was the pretty little street sweeper I had tried to erase from my memory after that slightly embarrassing night at the ballet. After dancing I had gone home, punching myself for every stupid comment.  
“Please don’t report me,” She mourned. She had gone calm only to fear me instead of the imaginary gunshots. I helped her to her feet.  
“You’re shaking,” I noticed out loud. She was shivering, her gaze to her feet. “There’s a tea shop just step from here let me-”  
“Thank you,” She rushed.  
“What’s your hurry?” I interrogated. Refusing an officer was very strange behavior. Especially when they were offering warm food and drink.  
“I can’t lose this job,” She offered with a faint smile. “They’re not easy to come by. But thank you.” My shoulders relaxed. A hardworking girl.  
“What’s your name comrade?” I asked suddenly brave.  
“Anya,” She said her smile shining brilliantly. Anya was a very nice name for this little waif. She didn’t shy away from me. “And you?”  
“Deputy Commissioner Gleb Vaganov,” I replied.  
“Gleb,” She repeated. The sound fit so perfectly in her mouth. I could picture her saying it forever. The word as sweet as honey in her voice.  
“Sweeper move along!” A faceless voice called inside a shop. I handed her the broom as she whisked herself away. I reached out for her stuttering. I felt I was losing her somehow.  
“I’m here everyday!” I called out hoping she would hear. A grin staining my face for the rest of the day. 

=============================================================================================================

I awoke sweaty, shivering, and gasping for air. Salty tears pools gathered in my eyes. I wiped them away with the back of my hand. I sat up and pulled my knees to my chest. My breathing was heavy and shook me violently. Cool air stung my lungs as I gulped it. The shadowy people had returned in my dreams. Begging me to help them. Wanting me to remember them. Sad eyes and white dresses. A little boy teasing and laughing, calling to me. He had turned towards me with wide shocked eyes. Flinching as if shot. Blood spilling from his mouth, dropping dead on the ground. If I closed my eyes I could still see his glassy eyes and unmoving cold body. A man had tried to shield him. He had enclosed the boy in his arms and with tenderness held him close. The first bullets had hit the man. His arms spasmed and dropped. A beautiful young lady emerged from the shadows. She limped holding onto the corridor wall. She had thought she tricked her killers. She was going to survive. A light was glowing at the end of the hall. Before she could cross the threshold a loud crack and she was still. Red liquid poured onto the white marble and around me. The smell of smoke thick in the air. It had choked me. Desperately gasping for air I couldn't even scream in horror.  
I kept blinking hoping the figures would go away. Squeezing my knees to me as tight as possible. Flying away from the hellish nightmare. I rocked slowly back and forth, back and forth. My fingers slowly playing with the necklace on my throat. “Together in Paris” it read. Hopefully whoever was in Paris would be able to get rid of these nightmares. Home, Love, Family. That is all I could ever want.  
The sun peeked over the horizon in a pale yellow curve. The jingle of keys echoed on the stone of the bridge. My fingers went up to my hair to braid it. Masha groaned as she woke up. I heard her shuffling towards me.  
“Anya come to the ballet,” She bossed.  
“I don’t really want t-” I said.  
“Please,” She interrupted. “This man keeps coming around and I don’t want him to get attached. A beastly man. He and that Petrov are loud and brash.”  
“I don’t want to be prey,” I whined.  
“Anya,” She insisted. “Just come. You enjoyed that night of dancing with Petrov.”  
“He can’t dance,” I giggled. His jerky movements floated through my mind. I thought of the Deputy Commissioner, Gleb. He had offered me tea only a few short days ago. “Do the Bolsheviks come there often now?”  
“Petrov does,” Masha scowled. “Some others come. Mikhailov usually accompanies them.”  
“What about the tall one with dark hair and all the medals,” I pondered out loud.  
“I used to notice him,” Masha shrugged indifferently. “But he doesn’t stay long when he comes. Just a drink and no dancing. He is stern and cold.”  
“He’s a good dancer,” I mused. “I don’t think he’s cold. His smile is warm.”  
“Innocent Anya,” She snorted. She stood up and dug around in her little sack of things. I finished the braid and stood to leave.  
“Ya poydu,” I said answering Masha’s original question. “Da.” Her toothy smile graced her face.  
“Malyshka!” The ballet owner cried. “Move along.” I grabbed a white cotton gown. Pink ribbons were poorly sewn to it. Grabbing into a wooden box I produced almost matching hair ribbons. I ran into the dressing room not wanting to be yelled at again. I stripped myself of my dress and stood in my undergarments.  
“You’re such a pretty thing,” An older woman crooned. “No need for a corset.” I blushed and buttoned the back of the white dress. I never considered myself pretty. I looked in the mirror hoping to see a pretty creature looking back but only saw myself.  
“Anya,” Masha barked. “Move. Go out and entertain for a bit. I do not care for you to stand around being vain.” I stuck my tongue out and stomped out into the ballroom. It seemed less pretty tonight. I could see it’s dust. It wasn’t an ornate building. Patrons milled about the hall and drank from the dark chipped glasses. Petrov was harassing the boy sitting at the piano.  
“Comrade leave him be,” Gleb’s smooth voice sternly commanded. “You’re in over your head.” Masha had said he didn’t come here hardly ever, yet tonight was an exception. His hair was brushed neatly. Uniform clean and medals glimmering. I walked past the piano and headed towards the bar. I sat down and asked for water. A young man was sat in the corner whispering to some of the girls. They listened intently. When he looked over his shoulder and saw the Bolsheviks at the piano he grabbed his coat and left promptly. I saw but a glimpse of his handsome face. A strange boy. I sipped at my glass idly.  
“Anya?” Gleb asked approaching. “A pleasure to see you here.” I continued to look at my glass.  
“Oh hello Gleb,” I said cheerily after a moment. “It’s nice to see a friendly face.” I looked up into his deep dark eyes.  
“You look sad Anya,” He said testing out my name.  
“I don’t have a good feeling about this place,” I stammered. “Not tonight.” His eyes held such understanding.  
“I thought that myself comrade,” He answered warmly. “That offer for tea still stands. Say you’ll get changed and I take you there. My treat.” I looked around the dusty room feeling tense. This would be a good reason for me to leave. I don’t think Masha would mind me accepting such a polite offer. Although Masha would never refuse anything from an officer,she could be quite a hypocrite when it came to me.  
“That sounds fun,” I said sticking my chin out. He nodded his head and I scrambled off the stool. I headed back to the dressing room smiling over my shoulder. My mind was so light and happy I didn’t notice Masha speaking.  
“Anya!” she snapped.  
“Sorry, what?” I replied laughing.  
“Where are you going?” She interrogated. “Leaving already?” She picked up the discarded white dress.  
“I’m going to a little tea shoppe,” I offered honestly.  
“You can’t afford that,” She said growing envious.  
“A nice man said he would take me there,” I replied in confusion.  
“A gentleman?” She scoffed. “Here? Anya don’t be naive.”  
“He’s a friend,” I sputtered.  
“Innocent Anya,” She laughed. “Go, run off.” I furrowed my eyebrows feeling hurt. I skipped out of the room not wanting to face other questions. Gleb stood up upon seeing me.  
“Let’s go,” He said offering me his arm. I slipped my hand around his arm and rested my head gently on his shoulder. He was a big comfort to my troubled mind. The crisp night air greeted us as we stepped outside. The sound of the piano being cut off as the door closed.  
“Anya can you wait here a moment?” He asked. “I should probably tell the other officers that I’m leaving.” He slipped back into the building promising to be quick. I leaned on a lampost pondering why this Bolshevik had me as a companion or friend. I was quietly thinking when something grabbed at my skirt. I jumped.  
“Didn’t mean to scare you golubushka,” A voice called. The stranger’s hands continued to wonder in my pocket grabbing rubles. I tried to pry myself away, not wanting to resort to fighting. “I saw you inside the ballet golubushka. I thought to myself what a pretty thing.” Panic was rising inside me. His grip was too tight and his vodka breath too close. I kept my chin up hoping the anxiousness resting in my throat wouldn’t escape. Options were limiting quickly.  
“Get off her comrade,” The familiar powerful voice commanded. His tone serious and direct. The stranger cloaked in the shadows cast from his hat merely laughed in replied. His eyes didn’t move to Gleb as his hand reached higher. Gleb swiftly pushed the man off of me and seized him by the collar. His gloved hands holding the stranger’s jacket tightly. Gleb’s powerful arms flexed as he lifted my assailant and roughly shoved him again the stone wall of a neighboring building. The dull sound of his head hitting the cement was unsettling. Gleb showed no emotion as he held the man there. The man either drunk or with a death wish spit first on the ground and secondly on his captor’s face. Gleb didn't flinch.  
“Shlyukha,” The pinned man whispered. Protectively the deputy commissioner slammed the man back into the wall. Anger rising into his expression.  
“Comrade,” He warned steadily. “Apologize to the girl and give her the money. Thief!” The man looked down for the first time to see his captor. The medals glittered in the moonlight. His eyes widened as he dropped the contents from my pockets.  
“Pardon,” He croaked. Gleb tightened his hold. “You are the one scarring her.” The officer looked back at me. I wiped tears I didn’t know had formed quickly away from my eyes. Emotions overwhelmed me.  
“I’m fine,” I said my voice cracking. Gleb released the man; giving me his arm he moved us quickly away. We walked silently.  
“I didn’t want to scare you,” He tenderly said. He wasn’t meeting my eye. “I should not have done that.”  
“Thank you,” I interjected. “I don’t think anyone else would have helped me. I just- Thank you.” I squeezed his arm reassuringly. A phantom smile spread across his face. He opened the door to the little tea shop and waved me in. I sat down at a little table in the corner as he went to get food. I quickly dug in my pockets silently counting money. He really shouldn’t have to pay for this alone. I dug out a few rubles that should cover the tea. Went he sat down across from me I handed it to him.  
“No,” He imposed. “I asked you to be here. I pay.” He pushed the money back at me.”  
“I am not a charity,” I defied. He laughed.  
“Take your money,” He insisted. “I know you work hard enough to earn it.”  
“I will not,” I challenged.  
“Then I’ll have to just eat by myself,” He joked. I looked at the tray he had threatened to take away. Soft bread and butter, mint tea, sandwiches cut in half, and olivier salad. My stomach growled. He laughed at the noise. His hand still kept the meal from me. I stuffed the money in my pocket.  
“Was that really so bad?” He teased.  
“Yes,” I stated sassily. I reached for a cup and placed my portions in front of me. My mouth watered at the thought of real warm food. I quickly began to eat. After a moment I felt his smiling gaze upon me.  
“What?” I said between mouthfuls. He set down his teacup.  
“You must be hungry,” He replied. I swallowed slowly and blushed. “No, no. It’s good. A strong youthful lady like you should have a good appetite. Forget I said anything.” I slowly started to eat again. I was aware of my movements and tried to take my time savoring the flavors. I stole another glance at him. He was quietly eating his sandwich. He pushed his roll with butter towards me. I quirked an eyebrow.  
“I promise you’ll enjoy it more than I would,” He said. I took it without breaking eye contact. “Are you happy now Anya?”  
“No,” I proudly replied.  
“Then take my tea as well,” He offered smirking.  
“No,” I said.  
“No?” he replied his smirk growing.  
“NO,” I refused more sternly.  
“You are stubborn,” He laughed warmly. He took back the cup and drank from it, his soft lips parting. I was staring. I looked back down at my food and ate with a happier feeling. My mind strayed back to the question I had thought of earlier.  
“Why did you invite me here?” I asked.  
“Because I asked before when you were shaking on the street,” He said.  
“Why did you ask then?” I continued.  
“You were scared and-” He paused. Peering at my impatient look he continued. “You don’t get a lot of good company as deputy commissioner.”  
“But why me?” I asked curious. “Circumstance?” He looked away as if thinking something different.  
“You are very hardworking are you not,” He stated. “Never straying to gossip. I noticed. You’re a model citizen and um…” I quirked my eyebrow again trying to get a full response. He stood his ground.  
“Ah,” I mused. “A model citizen.”  
“Your very loyal to your duty,” He carried on carefully. “Clever. Friendly. Proud.”  
“Proud?” I laughed.  
“Yes very,” He replied. “And my God so stubborn.” I laughed. He spoke with such honesty. I finished my meal leaving the plate spotless. A phantom of the sweet tea on my lips. He looked at me and that small pretty smile crept into his face. Dimples appear with the small movement.  
“I should take you back now,” Gleb serenely spoke.  
“No one will be about the ballet at this time,” I answered.  
“Then where do you live Miss Anya?” He asked. I paused. I had no address; no home.  
“It’s not far from here,” I stammered. “By the bridge.”  
“That’s quite convenient!” He exclaimed. “My little apartment is past the bridge. I’ll walk you there.”  
“Gleb,” I said trying to form a good argument. I looked at his happy face now fading back into his usual unmoving expression. “You can walk me to the bridge.” His smile returned.  
“Not to the house?” He joked. “You don’t trust me? heh... that’s actually pretty wise. I don’t know you well. I don’t know what your favorite color even is.”  
“I don’t have a favorite color,” I automatically responded. “No, It’s gold. But I just like looking at the Neva before I go to sleep. It’s magical. The water is flowing but it’s calming.”  
“It’s a beautiful river,” He added. He stood up and held out his arm. I took it gently and we walked. The door closing loudly behind us. My legs hurried to keep up with his long strides. A strong gust of chilled air blew from the riverbanks. I clung closer to his arm, feeding off the warmth he provided. At the bridge he released my arm and stopped unsure of how to part.  
“Goodnight friend,” He said shyly. I strayed to the railing. The water lapped softly at the bank far off still.  
“Dobroy nochi,” I replied. “Sleep well.” He tipped his hat in farewell and slowly walked away.  
“Gleb?” I asked quickly.  
“Yes Anya?” he replied.  
“Are you sure you won’t accept my money?” I asked tranquilly.  
“As sure as the sun will rise,” He responded.  
“But pleas-” I started to whine.  
“Anya,” He retorted. “You need the money. Street sweeping does not pay as well as being an officer. You’ll need the money for heavy clothes during the winter. All that time outside. I can not imagine the cold.”  
“You are out on the streets patrolling,” I observed.  
“Not for very long,” He reciprocated. “We are well taken care of. I doubt you have that much security. I know the people who hire sweepers. They never notice the person behind the broom.”  
“You may be right,” I reflected. “I don’t like taking from you. It’s not what a good comrade should do.”  
“You have it mixed up,” He countered. “You aren’t taking. I’m offering it to you. Why refuse a gift? It is given in good spirit. Friend to friend.”  
“Perhaps,” I said furrowing my brow in concentration. “I’ll take your word for it.” He nodded. I stared back into the water. The tiny pinpricks of silver reflected on the surface. The glossy waves rolling over rocks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Doesn't the fluff just make your heart squeeze.


	4. The Tsar's Russia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some backstory for Gleb.  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> As always ~Enjoy

“What is it Comrade Gorlinsky?” I asked instantly standing up from my desk.  
“A rumor,” He curtly responded. A thin folder landed on the desk’s wooden surface.  
“What’s it about?” I questioned.  
“The disgraced traitors,” He spit. “Romanovs.”  
“They’re rightfully dead,” I said in confusion.  
“That’s why I gave this to you,” The man coldly said. “You of all people know that.” I swallowed deeply. The deafening silence of that night caused my ears to pop. The shots echoing around me. I stood very still. Those people who had taken everything from me had served their death sentence. I hated them. But still the image of small bodies in ornate clothing being carried outside made my stomach turn. The young boy’s wide open blue eyes glazed in death. I closed mine tightly forcing the memory down. Opening them I saw the proud officer looking at me with a smirk.  
“Some people are trying to raise a Romanov girl from the dead,” He continued. “It’s a very destructive rumor. I’m sure you can manage though.”  
“Who do they think survived?” I asked still shaken from my flashback, but unwilling to show it. “Maria? Olga?”  
“Anastasia,” He answered. “The youngest girl. Of course they would pick the most seemingly innocent. You and I both know her legacy could be a deadly poison. Stop this infection and let Russia heal from it’s battle wounds.” He turned on his heel and left me alone with the memories. I shook in fury. The. Tsar. Was. Dead. I refused to let his little spoiled offspring make me that frightened child again. I was so much stronger now. Funny how a boy can grow. I was now a man. I looked out the window pane. I at least masqueraded as an adult, but inside I knew I was just as upset towards the Romanovs as I had been all those years ago.

“What’s your favorite food?” I asked.  
“I don’t know,” Anya mumbled her head bent as she swept. “Mandarins? I had they once as a special treat.”  
“What about books?” I continued keeping easily in step with her.  
“I could never pick a favorite,” She replied.  
“Then your favorite place?” I asked.  
“Shapshi,” She pondered. “Or maybe Moscow or Abakan. Nevermind that I like Leningrad more now.”  
“Those are a long way from Pe-Leningrad,” I commented. “How did you find yourself there.”  
“Oh I travelled all over Russia,” She offhandedly said. “North, south, east and west. I don’t have family or connections. No money and the nurses couldn’t take care of this orphan for very long. I walked a great deal. Working and enjoying the views.”  
“Is there any place you wish to go to?” I questioned curiously. “Or are you happy in P-Leningrad.”  
“Oh in Russia I want to stay in Leningrad,” She smiled dreamily. “But one day I wish to go to Paris.”  
“France!” I replied shocked. “Why should a Russian go there?”  
“I feel like something is calling me to Paris,” She explained. “I feel like some of my family is there. It’s just a dream though.” I watched the way her eyes sparkled when she spoke of Paris. Perhaps this dream of visiting France was simply that. Just a dream of a girl who likes to travel.  
“What is the earliest thing you remember?” I said seriously.  
“Rain against a window,” She told. Her posture tightened as if she wanted a different answer. “I was laying on my back. I hurt all over. I was dreadfully cold too. The chilled rain pelting the glass. My breath would come up in tendrils. My skin was covered in bruises, marks, and goosebumps. I wore simple clothes and a large hat. The metal bed frames would creak when a nurse walked past. The rusty springs bending. My sheets were stark white, others pinstripe blue. A grey pillow rested under me. The hospital wasn’t very kind to me.” She stopped quietly.  
“Sounds gloomy,” I commented. “Enough of my questions.”  
“Gleb, what is your favorite place in Leningrad?” She asked and for the first time looked up. I had walked with her during my lunch hour hoping to save myself the money and distract from any consequential hunger. I thought about all the areas I had visited during patrols. I thought of the stunning sights like the Winter Palace and St. Isaac's cathedral. They were the Tsar’s not the people’s. I thought of the summer gardens in full bloom.  
“Kirov central park,” I said slowly. “Yelagin island. It’s beautiful in the fall and spring. The trees in shades of orange and red. It’s very pretty.”  
“I’ve never been,” She replied. “I don’t sweep parks. It sounds gorgeous though.” A dream like smile played on her lips. A nearby church rang the hour.  
“I should get back to the offices,” I stated.  
“Gleb wait,” She called as I moved away. Her head turned upwards. “Sweet or salty?”  
“What?” I laughed.  
“Sweet or salty,” She repeated.  
“Sweet,” I said thoughtfully. “Sweet, creamy, and rich. Like cherry cordials and rum balls.” My answer seemed to satisfy her. I turned once again on my heels and headed back to work.  
Staring at the thin yellowed folder I thought back to my childhood. Terror and pain washed over me. Why would anyone want to bring back that? The Tsar’s Russia? I could see a little child stumbling in the snow and sliding across glare ice. I thought of the factory. My body seized up at the thought. Sweat trickled down my neck.  
The wind howled threateningly again the stone walls. The sound of turning gears and screeching metal echoed around me. Iron being shaped. Raw metals being carted in from the mines. Smoke and flames blasted about my young form. Small blisters covered the small boys hands. He had touched metal that wasn’t quite cooled. Running about with a cart or sack he would carry pieces to be loaded in trucks. His starved limbs slowly moved back and forth and back and then a heavy hand hit him. He continued on his journey back and forth with more urgency. He hissed in pain. The burn glowed white and red on his hand. A loud crack and blast of smoke came from one of the furnaces. A man lay on his back. His front covered in soot and covered in blisters. The man was told at once he was fired, he couldn’t work therefore can’t be paid. The child closed his eyes tightly as the injured man limped and was carried away. At the darkest time of night the young boy was released and he journeyed across the slick pavement. His footing slipped and he was laying in the snow bank. Gunshots were muffled by the falling flakes. They grew nearer and the frightened youth picked his thin body up. Running as fast as his lanky legs could manage he made his way to a small wooden house. It was near the Ipatiev house. The young boy cast barely a glance at the gated home and headed into his own. He moved through the cold dark house. His small lips kissed a metal box containing the would have been baptism clothes of his dead baby sister. The girl had died of sickness only a day before she would have been baptized. The family grieved for the young girl’s soul. The boy loved his small sister, but was young and couldn’t fully understand her passing. The cold and hunger had slowly began building a wall around his fragile heart. His tears were left unwiped. His mother desperately trying to calm him. He did not want to be a burden, he kept himself closed off. Another round of bullets rang through the air.  
I gasped as I was pulled from the memory. My knuckles white against the sides of the desk. Why would anyone try to bring that back? Those damned Romanovs. I couldn’t recall much of them before the day of the execution. They were hardly ever let outdoors. Each one of them haughty in their posture and expressions. The young boy who was destined to be the next oppressor was ever so closely watched. All of them had those piercing blue eyes. Tatina stood the tallest and would obey never once glancing out the fence. Olga with her round face would sit in the grass and pick the little flower buds and clovers. Maria was very pretty. Her youthful face was smiling in my memories. Her favorite sibling was the youngest girl, Anastasia. My memory of the young girl was clouded. She was a fiery spirit and her hair a mess as she climbed trees and in defiance would press her nose to the window, meeting my gaze. She would pull a face sticking out her tongue, mockingly. The Tsar was distanced. His arms pulling the children away and proudly puffing his chest. Good thing he was buried and gone.  
“The rumors never end,” I mumbled quietly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the big chunk of text. I'm bad at formatting, whoops.


	5. Sitting at the Water's Edge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are taking shape. 
> 
> Also sorry for the kinda short chapters, I promise the amount of chapters will make up for it lol.

“This isn’t the right amount of pay,” I argued. “What happened?” I handed my broom to the man. My face showed concern.  
“Rumor is you were distracted today,” The man explained. He gave a glance at one of the women in line. A rat. “It’s not fair to pay you the same amount. You must feel fine though, seeing as you were daydreaming and accepting tea from a man.”  
“But,” I insisted. “The tea isn’t my fault. The daydreaming perhaps. I demand more pay, not full but not this.”  
“Do you want to be fired comrade?” He threatened. I shut up. I couldn’t lose this job.  
“Comrade,” A rich voice called. “What’s the issue?”  
“Just a girl asking for more pay,” My employer replied. “A small disagreement. Move along girl.” The man behind me grabbed my arm and kept me there. I was stuck in between the two forces. I couldn’t even face Gleb.  
“How much does she make usually?” Gleb asked. The man held out some money, my wages. “Anya how much did you get?” I held out my hand.  
“It’s about half,” I said sheepishly.  
“What is the reason for this?” Gleb asked the man.  
“She isn’t working as hard,” The man replied. “Leaving her post to eat out with a man. Daydreaming. Stopping work and screaming like a banshee. I pity the girl.”  
“The tea was only today!” Gleb complained. “I ordered her as deputy commissioner! Sir are you willing to go under investigation for this?” The man appeared frightened.  
“Gleb!” I cried. “It’s not worth it. It’s my fault for daydreaming. Let the man be!” Gleb glared at the man before letting me lead him away. I clung to his arm moving quickly away from trouble.  
“I don’t need your help,” I sternly told him. “I have managed fine on my own. Only a child wondering Russia. Sleeping in the woods. Cold, cold woods.” I trailed off.  
“Anya,” He said softly. “All alone for so long?” He stopped in his tracks looking at me. I felt an uncomfortable air of pity.  
“Having less money is better than none Gleb,” I said. “That’s all. What’s past is done. The only part of my past I care about is the time I don’t know. That’s all I want. That part is who I am.”  
“Anya you have a friend now,” He said. “You deserve all you work for. A friend should stick up for what’s right. A friend who’s proud of the person you’ve become.”  
“Really?” I asked. I looked at his face. The dimples forming slowly.  
“Of course,” He said earnestly. He smiled devilishly. “Well...maybe all that freedom in your youth made you too stubborn and proud. I don’t know if I’m proud of that.” I pouted dramatically.  
“I’m hurt!” I cried in a theatrical manner. I draped myself onto the railing of my bridge. “I don’t know if my little heart could take such a blow.”  
“Oh dearest Anya how could you ever forgive me!” He teased back. He seized my hand and pressed his cheek to it in a sorrowful manner. “What a beast I’ve been!”  
“Sir you are so cruel!” I moaned dramatically. I slumped down onto the pavement. I threw my arms up. “I shall die!” He laughed low in his stomach. He stuck a hand out and helped me to my feet.  
“Keep safe Anya,” He said happily. He put a finger underneath my chin tilting my head upwards, to meet his dark eyes. “Sleep well.” I watched him go with a wave.

My eyelids were very heavy. I had not slept much that night. Tossing and turning and throwing off the shadows that threatened to drown me in their pain. Instead of the usual people dressed in white I had seen the men holding guns. I clung to the young girl who had almost escaped. Bayonets pierced us and the bullets whizzed past my terrified body. The smoke was so black and thick I couldn’t see a thing until the deafening sounds halted. The men stood grabbing for the bayonets again. I could see their faces all furrowed and angry. I begged them to stop. I saw a man’s dark eyes tear up. Those bottomless eyes begging for forgiveness, yet he lowered his bayonet and proceeded with the torment.  
“His name is Dmitry,” I heard a woman whisper ever so quietly. “He’s the only one who can get you a passport. The borders are closing fast.” I looked out the side of my eye to see the pair. Dmitry? Could this man get me to Paris? Paris. Paris came with the good nights. The nights when the shadows would not visit. The golden lights, a beautiful bridge, and family. Where could I find this man who held the ticket to Paris? The two women walked away from each other. Perhaps I’ll never know where Dmitry could be. My hand mindlessly played with my necklace. “Together in Paris”  
The evening was sunny. I had given back my broom and had headed to the bridge I called home. Masha was leaning against a lamp post.  
“Anya will you come with me to go swimming?” She asked in a bored manner.  
“Masha why?” I whined. “Go yourself.” She pulled my arm roughly and we headed to a pond. One of her friends was there. The two women chirped like birds and stripped until they were only in their underclothes. I sat on the grass and look out on the edge of the water. I slipped my shoes and socks off placing them carefully in a pile. I waded into the pond careful not the wet my skirt. The cool water rippled around my legs.  
“Devushka why don’t you join us?” The other woman called. I smiled politely and shook my head in the negative.  
“It’s cold,” I laughed. Masha scowled and rolled her eyes. The two women went further into the water dipping their heads into surface. The gentle pull of the water as it lulled back and forth was bewitching. I was like a marionette and my strings pulled me further into the water. I could almost hear those voices that called out in my dreams. Just a little deeper. The hem of my skirt bunched as high as it could go was dampened. A cold rock came in contact with me foot. I suddenly came to my senses. I ran out of the water terrified of what could have happened.  
“Masha is this yours?” I yelled out onto the water holding up a book for her to see.  
“Kind of?” She replied. “It’s mine now! Who cares where it came from!” I kneeled in the mossy grass my fingers tracing the spine. The blue leather bound cover was worn. I flipped randomly through the pages. Beautiful sketches of flowers and a handful of photos colored with watercolor were stuffed in the pages. The book itself was very religious. I glanced at the photographs feeling a strange connection. The first two photos were of a hedge of roses colored in pastel pinks. The second a picture of water. Both were carefully dated on the back. The third picture was very blurry and appeared to be of a small bulldog. The last was of four girls. They wore similar dresses in different pastel colors. On the back O.T.M.A was written. My hands trembled slightly holding the image. My mind wanted me to remember the girls. Cousins? Past friends?  
“Anya!” Masha scolded. “Don’t mess with my things. I want the book in as good of shape as possible. No one will buy it if you get water all over!” She snatched the photograph from my hand and wedged it back into the pages. She shooed me off with her hand and I obliged. I picked up my shoes and left the women to their gossip. I had nothing to tell, and nothing to do there. As I passed by them I could hear Masha’s whispers.  
“They say Dmitry’s living in the Yusupov Palace,” She told. “Taken up like he’s a little boy again serving soup to the countesses. If the Tsar was alive no doubt he’d be eating their scraps.” Dmitry. Was it the one I was searching for? No, it can’t be; there are so many Dmitrys in Leningrad. But still. The Yusupov Palace could be my ticket out of Russia.


	6. Start of Something New

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where is our favorite Russian Rat in all this mess? Beloved angsty Dima is making his grand entrance.

“Dmitry what are you doing now?” Vlad asked. The “count” was always so protective. Some days I wished I never saved him from that firing squad, he was such a pain. I looked at his face full of concern and worry for me and all traces of dark humor melted from my mind.  
“I’m getting into the crawl space,” I announced. “Hopefully a can of beans or some loot is still there. When I was young I hid so much up there, hopefully the raiders didn’t get it all.”  
“I thought you said the food rations had been hidden in the winter palace,” Vlad Popov stated. “And before that you were certain some were in Catherine’s Palace, but that was the Tsar’s home and would be heavily looted by White Russians so that people like you couldn’t steal the Romanov fortune. Then you said they were in Alexander’s Palace, one of the royal family’s favorites, alas no dice. Then you told me about all the theatres.”  
“Vlad,” I argued. “Did we not find stuff in those places?”  
“Nothing important,” He chuckled. I rolled my eyes and continued to climb the banisters reaching for the hidden area where I had spent some time in my youth. As I crammed into the hidden room I remembered how it once had been. Swirling gowns, music, laughter. Yelling cooks and scavenging for food. I had scrubbed each dish with all the pent up anger of a young boy. My hands red and cracked from the warm water. And the grand duchesses would filter into the kitchen laughing. Tatiana would act as governess and would laugh with her older sister Olga. Marie would flutter her eyelids and prance quickly away. Anastasia was nearly intolerable; always pulling pranks and taking food. All of them well polished porcelain dolls. I would sit up in the hiding spots when the day got too boring. Once the youngest daughter had seen me hiding and had tried to climb up the banister in pursuit. She had gotten about halfway up before her father had approached and gave her that look. As much as the Tsarina favored her daughter Tatiana, the Tsar favored the youngest girl. She would obey his unspoken orders and smilingly would walk away with her father. I had traveled to Yekaterinburg with the Tsar and his children. After they were killed my father bought us a train ticket back to St. Petersburg. Life was tough. My father was kidnapped and killed. I never knew my mother. I grew up in the streets of Petersburg.  
“Dima!” Vlad yelled. “Come eat!”  
“Give me a moment!” I called down. I quickly searched the hiding spot. It appeared empty. I pulled a wooden board up to reveal two tin cans and a single glove. It was off white and small, a server’s glove. I picked up the items and climbed down from the spot.  
Vlad sat with good posture at a windowsill. A far off look was on his face and his usually rosy cheeks were pale. He was thinking. His glasses perched on the end of his nose and his lips drawn tight. The plates of mysterious meat sat before him. He leaned his head back with a sigh.  
“Dima,” He said forlorn. “What if we are shot?”  
“Then I guess we won’t be hungry anymore,” I replied unshaken.  
“Dmitry,” He said.  
“It’s just a risk we’ll have to take,” I laughed. “You’ve never been scared before. What’s got you all worked up.”  
“I just..” He looked sad. “Before it was just a con, but this time I really believe Anastasia could be alive. What if we convince the Dowager Empress and then the real Anastasia never gets to see her Nana. What if?”  
“Anastasia is dead,” I stated coldly. “I promise that. The only thing to survive that cellar is the little dog of the Tsarevich. Even some of the servants were killed or beaten. Just for hearing those gunshots. I had bruises for months. A little maid girl was nearly dead from the beatings. As you see Vlad, they were willing to murder a young Red Russian girl for simply hearing the gunshots, they could not have missed any of the grand duchesses.”  
“That’s true, they couldn’t even spare the little french bulldog,” Vlad quietly whispered. “I just feel it Dima. I want to believe she managed to escape that truck. Hide away.”  
“Don’t be naive,” I said. I was upset by the way he could hope. I had lost that kind of innocence on Red Sunday.  
“You really cared for her didn’t you?” My father figure asked. Tears had appeared in my eyes.  
“No,” I lied. “She was a pest. Those damn Bolsheviks took away my family and my way of life. I can’t stand that they won.” He glanced at me already knowing the truth. It was written clearly on my face. Once upon a time I had been enchanted by the Grand Duchess Anastasia. I had noticed her every smile and her mischievous blue eyes. I had even bowed to her and only her. I had tried to save her that night. I had run to the door but a nurse had pushed me away, rushing me to another room, told me to cover my ears. I didn’t. My father covered in cuts had carried me away. A small caravan of servants all running as quickly as possible from the chaos. That night I had cried. I cried for my Anastasia. I had heard the truck that carried her away from me for forever. I had kissed the ground that night knowing that somewhere underground in the city she was being buried.  
“I’m going to bed,” I said. I handed the rest of my food to Vlad and wandered into the halls. Upon reaching a drawing room I removed my jacket and set it on the floor. I curled up in my corner and pulled a wool blanket over myself. Maybe once I had believed that Anastasia had escaped. The diamonds sewn into their underclothes had saved their lives for almost twenty minutes. Some say Maria had even touched the door before she was shot in the leg and ordered to go back towards her crying siblings. Maybe my clever Anastasia had remained still long enough for guards to overlook her. Perhaps her bleeding body was so still her pulse was untraceable. She had escaped that truck and limped to freedom. But then why had she not appeared? She was her Nana’s favorite. Why wouldn’t she immediately return to her living family member? The answer seemed very clear. She just could not escape, she was dead.

“They’ve closed another border!” Vlad said urgently. “We should have gotten out of Russia while we still could!” I scoffed. He was always worrying.  
“A ruble for this painting!” A man called. “It’s Romanov I swear.”  
“Count Yusupov’s pajamas,” Another urged. “Comrade, buy the pair.” They were nice red clothes, fine pajamas. But the price of a count’s pajamas was double the price of the exact pajamas sold down the prospekt.  
“I found this in a palace initialed with an 'A',” A man said holding my arm still. “It could be Anastasia’s! Now what will someone pay?” Her name gave me goosebumps. I looked at another salesman. He held a small gold music box. It was ornate and reminded me of something the princess once had.  
“How much for it?” I asked.  
“It’s genuine Romanov,” The man said in false shock. “I could never part with it!” I remembered the two cans I had found yesterday in the hidden room.  
“Two cans of beans comrade?” I bargained.  
“Done,” The man replied. He practically tossed the box at me as he grabbed for the tin cans. I carefully placed the music box in my bag, making sure no one could rob me of it.  
“Vlad let’s get a move on!” I called to the greying gentleman. “Bolsheviks can raid a place like this at any moment.” We carefully moved back through the street wary of the grey green uniforms. Bolsheviks were disgusting. Their treatment of the hungry, sick, women, and those who spread rumors, was simply disgusting. That damned Deputy Commissioner Vaganov was the worst. It was a well known fact that his time as a prison guard was a cruel era. He was a perfect shot in the firing squad and he was cold in his treatment to begging prisoners. He never abused them, but he wouldn’t let doctors see the sick men who spat at his feet. He had been promoted and spent his time chasing me down and cleaning his medals. He was always so proper but anyone could see that he was a cold blooded killer, just like his father who rotted in Hell. His monstrous head emerged in the crowd before me. I stuck a hand out to stop Vlad. He saw the man as well.  
“Keep your head down Dima,” Vlad whispered. I did as instructed. We slipped past the general undetected and continued to the palace to host auditions for the main role in our scheme. I wondered if a charming enough girl to play Anastasia would appear. 

The terrible actress continued, this time without the tobacco. Every “Grandmama” was sickeningly sarcastic. This Masha’s fiery hair was nothing like the golden locks of Anastasia’s. But knowing a prostitute would do anything for money and a way out of Russia, I assumed that hair dye wasn’t out of the question. Her nose was too sharp though. Hopefully the old Dowager Empress was losing her sight.  
“You all may leave,” I announced. “You will be informed when the decision is made.” They reminded me to be civil because this was technically illegal.  
“If you weren’t so handsome Dmitry,” Masha sneered. “I’d report you!”  
I stopped off to my usual room. Vlad graciously led the girls out and closed up for the night. His kind instincts taking over. He mused over several comments the girl had made. Sharp knocking sounded off the heavy front door.  
“Those women ratted on us!” I cried. Panic washed over Vlad’s features and he quickly gathered his things: notebooks about the Romanovs and royal life. These could be damning evidence. He ran off in another room to hide himself and the books. I quickly ducked behind a sofa hoping I could squeeze underneath it.  
“I’m looking for Dmitry!” A scared voice called. It was a girl, not a bolshevik. Perhaps hoping to try out. Peering over the top of the sofa I could see her golden hair and piercing blue eyes. Maybe I should give this one a chance.  
“I’m Dmitry,” I announced popping up. “What do you want?”  
“I need exit papers and I was told you were the only one who could help me,” She rambled. Just another frightened girl trying to flee the motherland.  
\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
The Yusupov Palace loomed ahead of me. It was gorgeous. Of course such a beautiful place should hold the key to my past. I lightly played with my necklace. The longing for Paris was renewed with a hot spark. This man, Dmitry, could be an angel. Giving out passports! I imagined a kind face and broad shoulders. Like the image of how a royal should be. I thought of him a fatherly man with a passion for charity. This fantasies floated aimlessly through my mind. All I had to do was cross the threshold and receive everything I could ever want: home, love, and family. I knocked on the heavy front door and walked into the hall. A young popped out from behind a sofa. This Dmitry was young; irritated. Not the kind hearted face I had imagined while walking into the grand building. He was young and tall and handsome. That kind of mischievous handsome. Laughing eyes and quick hands of a trickster, a con. He wore a hat over dark disheveled hair. His red shirt rolled up to his elbows and his vest wore mismatched buttons. His hands played with the edges of his fingerless gloves. His amber colored eyes appeared annoyed. His face was all sharp angles and his lips formed a perfect smirk.  
“Exit papers are expensive,” He stated annoyed.  
“I’ve saved a little money,” I replied.  
“The right papers cost a lot,” He continued.  
“I’m a hard worker,” I rebuffed. He was ruffling my feathers. “You’ll get your money.”  
“What do you do?” He said almost serious. I hesitated. My work doesn’t pay well.  
“I’m a street sweeper,” I answered.  
“A street sweeper!” He mocked. He looked over at his friend who had appeared in the room. My mind was to busy trying to form a way to convince Dmitry I hadn’t noticed the older man. He had greying brown hair with red streaks. His cheeks rosy and a neat beard. His wire glasses were perched carefully on his nose. His smile comforting and his grey eyes very friendly. My heart was racing because the chance of Paris was slipping through my fingers like water.  
“In Odessa I washed dishes!” I exclaimed hopeful. “Before that I worked at the hospital in Perm.” Why couldn’t he see how determined and hard working I was. I vowed silently that I wouldn’t leave the palace until he saw me in a different light.  
“You’re a long way from here,” He said with a flick of his hand. He leaned back into a chair with a fully formed smirk.  
“I know,” I sternly replied. “I walked it.” The journey from Perm and all through Russia wasn’t easy. It was cold and bitter.  
“You walked here all the way from Perm?” He asked in disbelief. His cocky grin fading away. He turned to face me. I held the power now. I looked at Dmitry’s companion to see the same shocked expression.  
“I had no choice,” I curtly responded.  
“Who are you running from?” The boy asked intrigued. I was running from uncertainty and to...Paris. I never knew what would find me there, but I needed to go to Paris.  
“I’m running to someone,” I hesitated. “I don’t know who they are but, they’re waiting for me in Paris.” Dmitry laughed.  
“You don't need papers,” He laughed sarcastically. “There’s a canal out there. Jump in and start swimming you’ll be in Paris before you know it!” He looked at his friend. “She’s crazy!”  
“I’m not crazy,” I huffed. “Why are you unkind?”  
“We were hoping you’d be someone else,” the other man explained. He appeared more friendly than Dmitry.  
“Who?” I questioned.  
“Someone who might not even exist,” The older man smiled warmly.  
“I’ve been here before,” I said out loud. My eyes scanned the room. My mind ached violently. My memory was shaking it’s chains and begged to be released. Beautiful ladies sat quietly. A play took place on the stage. The men wore fine suits and champagne poured into glasses. I could see it all but the why still hung out of my grasp.  
“The private theater in Count Yusupov’s Palace,” The older man explained. He had a far off look like he too was remembering the room in golden light and full of wonderful people. I felt very light.  
“She’s going to faint!” Dmitry teased.  
“Where are your manners,” his companion scolded. “Get her something to drink and a piece of that cheese.” He gave me his chair and looked at Dmitry expectatantly. The younger man stood up and angrily walked over.  
“This isn’t a soup kitchen, Vlad,” He huffed and walked away. The kind fatherly man was called Vlad.  
“Thank you,” I said when Dmitry had left. “You seem to be a gentleman even if your friend does not.” He laughed heartily.  
“Gentleman,” He smiled. “I haven’t heard that word in a long time. Life hasn’t been easy for my young friend.” He was trying to convince me the rude young man was still good.  
“Life hasn’t been easy for anyone,” I said defiantly. I was handed a cup of water and some food. Vlad whispered to Dmitry something about not being to quick with this one. I assumed that meant I had left a good impression. Dmitry laughed at the remark. I had some work to do with him.  
“What’s your name dear?” Vlad asked.  
“I don’t know,” I replied honestly.  
“What?” Dmitry scoffed.  
“You don’t know?” Vlad laughed confused.  
“They gave me a name at the hospital,” I clarified. “Anya. I have amnesia; there was nothing they could do about it.” Vlad looked at me with a measure of pity and Dmitry’s smirk faded again.  
“Do tell us what you remember,” Vlad encouraged.  
“Well they told me I was found on the side of the road,” I started hesitantly. “It was a wooded area. I was huddled, bleeding. Deep cuts and bruises covered me. It had recently snowed. Tracks were all around me. That assumed they were from whoever had helped me but upon seeing the blood marks they knew them to be my own. But the first thing I remember is the hospital. I am thoroughly convinced it’s haunted. So damp yet drier than a desert. Always cold yet my livid body sweat constantly. The harsh freezing rain would hit the glass windows. The echoing sound kept me awake. Nurses with cruel faces looked down at me whispering roughly. The beds were very rickety and creaked. The starched sheets rough underneath me. They gave me a wool hat. That’s the earliest I remember.”  
“What about all this walking you did?” Dmitry asked.  
“I walked the back roads,” I answered. “I traveled all across Russia. I slept in the woods, under bridges, benches, parks. In my dreams shadows urged me towards Paris. Beautiful, wonderful Paris. I kept moving towards Paris. I would work whenever possible throughout the journey.” Dmitry laughed.  
“You don’t know what it’s like, not to know who you are!” I told growing agitated. “Living in shadows. Walking so very far.” My nightmares. The screaming. All this pain was connected with my past and it’s lack. “I’ve seen flashes of fire! Heard the echo of screams! But I still have this faith in the truth of my dreams!” The pair looked at me; the older with a sad sort of awe and the younger with childlike wonder and deep thought. “I know it will all come back to me one day.”  
“Maybe we can help you, Anya,” Dmitry said. “We’re going to Paris ourselves. Vlad please take her on a tour of the palace.” He led me off to explore to the corridors. The long halls appeared cold and dark now, but he assured me they were once magnificent.  
“We have a small notion my dear,” He cherrily continued. “You might be the someone we were looking for.”  
“The one who might not exist?” I laughed.  
“Well if you are her she most definitely does exist,” He smiled. “When can you come back here, Anya? You, Dmitry, and I have a lot to go over before we can even discuss getting you those travel papers. We’ll take you to Paris if you can confirm our little notion.” I was thrilled. Paris seemed so close. What was this little idea they had brewing? I was frightened and excited at the same time.  
“I have an early shift Saturday,” I grinned. “I can come in at night.”  
“Wonderful!” He beamed. “See you then.” His beard lightly touched the top of my hand in a kiss. It was a strange royalist action that made me giggle.  
“Sleep well comrade,” I replied.


	7. Me?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anya's first lesson

Gleb looked tired, almost as tired as me. His back was still as straight as ever, but his eyes betrayed him. His cold stern expression used in patrol had sunk even lower into one of sadness. My eyes strayed to my friend as my broom moved on it’s own. My shift was nearly over and the sunset was glowing over the Neva. Leningrad was slowly settling down for the night. I would usually never abandon my work, I never had a reason to before. I wanted to run up to him and ask him what the problem was, but I needed the money. Paris was so close. I moved ever closer to him the broomstick swishing against the pavement.  
“Good evening Deputy Commissioner,” I said without glancing at him.  
“Dobryy vecher,” He responded automatically. I gave him a quick glance. He still had not recognized me. I giggled loudly. He looked down, no one would dare mock a man of his rank so close without expecting some repercussions.  
“Anya,” He softly responded. I looked back at him smiling. His tired dark eyes gazed at me with such warmth.  
“Are you well?” I asked very concerned.  
“No,” He responded honestly. “I couldn’t sleep. I came in very early today. So much work to be done, so many rumors. I can’t rest with all this pressure on my shoulders. I wish all was well.” I placed a hand on his shoulder in a gesture of understanding. His kind eyes smiled back.  
“When are you done for the day?” I asked.  
“Soon,” He replied. “What time is it?” I shrugged. He went off to find a clock and I continued moving the broom. The hour trickled by and I turned the broom back into the shed. I felt bubbly with excitement and hopefully that could fight back the nightmares. My steps were light as I danced back to my bridge.  
“Anya wait!” Gleb called. He hurried to me in long strides. “I thought I could walk you to the bridge.”  
“How thoughtful,” I grinned. I took his arm and matched his pace. He was quiet throughout the walk. I looked at his downcast face. I never thought the pavement was interesting but he must have different ideas. The bridge appeared into view. He released me.  
“Thank you kind gentleman,” I said with mock poise.  
“Anything for such a charming young lady,” He teased playing into my little antics. I turned around to face him. He gingerly placed a finger under my chin tilting it upwards. I smiled sheepishly. I broke the moment and clung to the bridge railing. He joined me and leaned over studying the water.  
“Where did you live when you were younger again?” I asked.  
“Yekaterinburg,” He answered unmoving.  
“When’s your birthday?” I questioned further.  
“Two weeks from now,” He answered. “November 12th.”  
“Oh really!” I exclaimed. “How exciting.” He smiled.  
“Yes,” He answered. “They let me take a day off and everything. Usually I buy myself a nice pirozhki and listen to music at home. It’s a quiet time.”  
“Sounds boring,” I joked. “I want to do something special for you my friend.”  
“Really?” He laughed. “What do you have in mind?”  
“It’s a surprise,” I lied. I really hadn’t thought this far.  
“Wouldn’t you have to work?” He asked.  
“Who says I won’t be ‘sick’ then?” I grinned.  
“Being dishonest?” He gasped. “I’m surprised Anya.”  
“We all need a break sometime and for you I would gladly use mine,” I replied. “Now off you go. I can’t have you so tired anymore. Shoo.” He obliged and disappeared into the rising fog. The drizzly night would give me time to hatch a plan.  
=============================================================================================================  
“When is the girl getting here?” I asked Vlad impatiently.  
“She only said nighttime,” Vlad answered leafing through a journal. “It’s barely five, give her time. She’s a hard working girl after all.” I ran a hand through my hair. Who’s to say the girl hadn’t slipped up about this all to a Bolshevik. She’s crazy….and pretty. A lot of girls are pretty in Petersburg. She was just the most convenient. A stubborn blonde girl with Romanov eyes that has amnesia. It practically created a con itself. I sat down on a wooden chair. I might have to wait a while. The moment I relaxed a soft knocking came from the hall.  
“Dmitry go get Anya,” Vlad said barely looking up. I rolled my eyes at him, his nose buried in a journal. He laughed. I opened the heavy oak door. The frightened little street sweeper looked up at me her fist still raised. She sheepishly lowered it and dug her hands into her coat pockets.  
“Hello Dmitry,” She proudly said. “What is this offer you have for me?”  
“Vlad can tell you,” I smirked. “Come along Anya.” I headed back into the room with her and plopped down into the chair. She remained standing, looking to Vlad. He slowly put his book down.  
“Miss Anya do have a seat,” Vlad said gesturing to the chair next to him. She hesitantly sat.  
“What is this all about?” She asked. “How can I get to Paris?"  
“Not so fast,” I warned smiling. “We’ve got a lot to discuss. You said the first thing you can remember is the hospital, correct?”  
“Yes,” She curtly responded.  
“And that you were half dead and bruised?” I continued.  
“That’s true,” She answered.  
“What about your family?” Vlad asked.  
“I am an orphan as far as I know,” She said. “I hope my family is in Paris. I want to be fully honest but, I don’t know if they are.” Vlad patted her arm in consolation. She politely nodded her head in thanks.  
“Well,” I ventured. “Vlad and I thought that story sounded very familiar. See, we were wondering why the grand duchess Anastasia hadn’t gone to her grandmother in Paris. The dowager empress has put out quite a search party.”  
“Isn’t Anastasia dead?” She asked.  
“Well the rumor is she escaped,” I smirked. “The diamonds sewn into her clothes saved her from the bullets and she ran away. But such an event could cause... you know... amnesia. Perhaps that’s why she hasn’t gone home. She doesn’t remember where home is. Now before you stumbled in that question puzzled us, but you fit that description very well.”  
“Me?” She laughed. “A Grand Duchess?”  
“Yes my dear,” Vlad said. “You don’t remember your past. You could be anyone but, not just anybody has Romanov blue eyes like you. It’s remarkable.”  
“We’ll teach you all about the royals,” I said. “How to act. We’ll take you to Paris to see the Dowager Empress and see if you are Anastasia.”  
“What if I’m not?” She questioned.  
“Then you are in France like you wanted,” I replied. “And we are out of Russia!”  
“Hmmm,” She said distrustfully.  
“It will be an honest mistake,” I smiled. She nodded.  
“How do you become the person you’ve forgotten you ever were?” She asked. She agreed to the plan. We were getting out of Russia, and getting rich.  
“Take a deep breath,” Vlad told her. “Close your eyes, and imagine another time, another world. Are you ready to start remembering?” She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She opened her blue eyes and nodded. Vlad looked at me grinning. He held out a red journal to her. In his other hand he had opened a large book filled with pictures of the palaces. A pretty watercolor one of Peterhof. The fountains and statues were all shimmering.  
“You were born in a palace by the sea,” Vlad started. “With all the luxuries one can offer a small child. You wore pretty lace gowns of white. They say you were an absolutely charming little baby. So very pretty and happy. Your mother like adorning you with blue ribbons to match your eyes.” Anya was so engaged in this fairytale. She leaned on Vlad’s shoulder and looked over the sketches and pictures, absorbing every word. Vlad gently tapped her nose when it so fit. She smiled. It would have been a happy scene but there was so much work to be done. She needed to know mannerisms, relations, languages, posture, inside jokes, pets, food, and expressions. We couldn’t afford to waste time on compliments for the lost princess’ appearance.  
“Vlad,” I warned. I motioned for him to talk quickly. He glared in response.  
“You rode horseback at age three,” He explained to Anya. “The horse was small and white. A beautiful creature.”  
“I can’t imagine myself riding horses,” She said.  
“Horse’s name?” I asked impatient.  
“Horse’s name was Romeo,” Vlad answered patiently. “You had a little dog too. Jimmy, a Cavalier King Charles Spaniel.” He showed a drawing. “And Tatiana had a french bulldog, Ortipo. Alexei had his precious springer spaniel, Joy. You all had many cats like Kot’ka and Zubrovka. It was said you children owned an elephant too. It obvious wasn’t kept in the palace. Your father’s favorite dogs were Voron and Iman. Your mother liked the cats. They were declawed to protect your brother from injury.”  
“What about the first dog Jimmy?” Anya asked.  
“He was a Cavalier King Charles Spaniel,” Vlad repeated.  
“No,” Anya puzzled. “The first one, the Japanese Chin.” She leafed back through the pages to find a picture. She stopped at the one of the pet cemetery. “See that’s Jimmy’s grave.”  
“Observant girl,” Vad mused. “Yes, he was your first dog. You named the other one in his memory.” He went back through the pages.  
“It’s getting late,” I announced. “There is still a curfew. Don’t want our princess getting locked up. We will continue this later.” Vlad got up and put the books away. Anya looked to me. She had such pretty eyes.  
“When is my next lesson?” She asked.  
“How about you come in whenever you can after sweeping the streets,” I said. “We’ll try our best to teach you fast, but the more time we get the better.” She looked at me annoyed by my tone. She said good night and flounced out the door. I sat down again sighing.  
“What a charming thing,” Vlad laughed. “A clever girl. I couldn’t have asked for a better pupil.” He gathered the books into an old flour sack smiling to himself.  
“She’s naive,” I scoffed. “Who else could fall for such a simple con. She’s small and “honest” and stubborn. It will take forever to get anything done if she can’t look at me without getting upset.” I rubbed my eyes in irritation.  
“You aren’t very kind to her,” Vlad commented. “She’s had a very rough life, being all alone. She would be more open to you if you wouldn’t criticize her so.”  
“Then I’d be as naive as her,” I scowled. “I’m not going to sugarcoat our situation just to make her happy.”  
“Foolish boy,” Vlad affectionately called. “You are so smart, yet dumber than bricks.” He punctuated the last sentence by hitting the top of my head quickly. “We need her. Don’t scare the poor thing.” The father like man headed to his “room” to go to sleep. I sat in the moonlit room. Had I been unkind to this waif? No. She was soft. I was annoyed by everything here in Russian. I needed freedom and space. I felt trapped. I stretched my gangly limbs and messed up my hair. Anastasia may have been shot, but her return was quickly on the rise.


End file.
